


Public Indecency

by Tamloid



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo Baggins Goes After What He Wants, Bilbo Baggins is a tease, Bilbo stays in Erebor, Blow Jobs, Bottom Thorin, Braids, Dwarf & Hobbit Cultural Differences, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarves and Their Braid Fetish, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Indecency (by dwarven standards), Royal Advisor!Bilbo, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Teasing, Thorin's Self-Control Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamloid/pseuds/Tamloid
Summary: Thorin was sure that Bilbo didn’t know what he was doing. There was no possible way his dear friend could know that his behavior was so...so...indecent! And in public, no less! Even though it was unintentional, Bilbo’s new habit was wreaking havoc on Thorin’s self control.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	Public Indecency

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops I fell into the dwarves+braids trope. Sorry, not sorry.

Thorin sighed and blinked his eyes a few times, willing the dry descriptions of gold production and the new beryl mine to make sense. He wondered why he ever thought that restoring and running Erebor would be easier than reclaiming it. He’d been reading and writing and signing documents for so many hours now that the words on the mining guild report in front of him had blurred together. It was no use. He propped his elbow up on the heavy desk in front of him and rested his chin on the heel of his hand, rubbing at his tired eyes with the other one. If Balin had seen him in that moment Thorin was sure that his old friend would be giving him a stern reminder about maintaining the bearing of a ruler. Thankfully it was only himself and Bilbo in the quiet office right then, and Bilbo would never tell. 

Bilbo was a good friend like that, and Thorin knew how lucky he was to have earned his friendship back. It’d been a long, _long,_ three years since they had finally reclaimed the mountain and Thorin had been crowned king. Dain’s initial contribution of volunteers has been invaluable in helping them get up and running before the rest of Thorin’s people had joined them from across the mountains. The men of Dale and even the elves of Mirkwood had helped them get established once more with their respective contributions of timber for construction and non-perishable foodstuffs to survive that first winter. But even with his loyal Company’s leadership in organizing and directing the workers, Thorin knows how lost they all would have been without Bilbo’s skills at negotiation and the diplomatic relations he’d already established with their neighbors.

Those first few months after the battle Thorin had divided his time almost evenly between letting his body recover, helping rebuild the mountain, and repairing the relationships he had with his friends. And most especially his friendship with Bilbo. There had been shouting, crying, and hugs aplenty, but both he and Bilbo had truly wanted to overcome the conflicts that had sundered their friendship. With time and honesty they had emerged with a partnership that was stronger than ever. And just in time for Bilbo to send a message to his people back in the Shire that one, he was alive and staying permanently out East; two, to cooperate fully with the group of dwarves led by Princess Dís when they came to collect Bilbo’s personal effects; three, that ownership of Bag End was signed over to the Gamgees in recognition of their decades of support and loyalty to the Baggins family; and lastly, that those greedy Sackville-Bagginses were not getting so much as a damn spoon, no sir.

With Bilbo staying in Erebor for good and their friendship repaired, he had become one of Thorin’s closest advisors, on par with Balin. Balin was focused on the internal running of the kingdom, namely the guilds and the council of lords, while Bilbo spearheaded their external relations. Both reported to Thorin, who tried to merge both sets of needs into the large picture of Erebor’s future. The system was working so far, and even more so after both Balin and Bilbo had recruited two small battalions of assistants. Once more of the essential rooms had been cleared Balin had happily reclaimed his old office close to the library and the army of scribes, and Bilbo had moved into Thorin’s royal office with him. It was incredibly helpful to have Bilbo working so near, to bounce ideas off of, to get questions answered quickly, and, in particular, to have Bilbo knock him over the head when he’s being an idiot. And as a bonus, the faint scratching and rustle of papers and the occasional _hmm_ coming from the smaller desk in the corner was a great comfort to Thorin when they were working late into the evening like they were tonight.

It was a good partnership, a partnership that _worked,_ even if wasn’t the more intimate partnership that Thorin wished they had. Such a relationship might have been a possibility years ago before he’d fallen to dragon sickness, but Thorin knew that he’d slammed that door shut when he’d tried to kill Bilbo. No matter how much Thorin loved Bilbo, no matter how much he wanted him, he was content with what they had now and was not so foolish to push for more.

Thorin sighed again and tried to refocus his attention on the report in front of him, but it was just as blurry as it was before. It was probably time to call it a night, and if Thorin was lucky he could convince Bilbo to join him for a nightcap in front of the fire in his chambers. He pushed the report aside and turned to Bilbo to invite him but the words died on his tongue.

Bilbo was sitting at his desk reading a piece of parchment and absentmindedly rolling a pen between his fingers. None of that was out of the ordinary, but what _was_ new was that Bilbo was sucking on the end of one of his braids.

Thorin is frozen. He can’t speak, he can’t breathe, can’t move his eyes away from the captivating sight. It had been hard enough to keep his feelings to himself when Bilbo’s hair had finally grown out enough to wear traditional braids and beads. Bilbo had chosen to wear only three of the ones he’d earned: one for the Company behind his left ear, for Erebor behind his right, and for being a Dwarf-friend down the center. When Thorin had first seen them he’d itched to run his fingers over the plaits woven tight against Bilbo’s scalp. The braids pulled his hair back from his lovely face and left his tantalizing ears exposed, while the rest of his long hair tumbled in riotous curls past his shoulders. Tradition and a sense of propriety, as well as the knowledge that the hobbit wouldn’t welcome the advance, had restrained the Thorin's urge to reach out and touch. 

Bilbo had always been very _proper_ about his braids. He’d always stayed well within the dictates of behavior that were expected of a royal advisor, braids tight and even and without a hair out of place when around other people. Compared with that, Bilbo’s behavior now was as...as... _wanton_ as it was unexpected.

It was a scene straight out of one of Thorin’s fantasies, the kind he tried not to enjoy too often late at night. Bilbo was sitting at his desk, dressed all proper-like in robes befitting his station, his wild golden hair partly restrained by plaits that declared his loyalty to Erebor—to _Thorin_ —and one of those braids, the one that curled behind his right ear, slipped in and out of his lush lips. Thorin watched, entranced, as Bilbo’s dexterous tongue darted out to run over the bead on the end of the braid and curl around it. The wet muscle pulled even more of the length of woven hair into his mouth and the braid stayed in that warm cavern for a minute until it slipped out again while Bilbo was distracted. The golden hair was darkened and glistening with moisture in the lantern light and Thorin nearly moaned at the tease.

When Thorin collected himself enough to tear his eyes away from the sight he realized that Bilbo was looking at him with some concern. He wondered how long he’d been staring at Bilbo playing with his braids.

“Thorin? Thorin, are you alright?” Bilbo asked with the worry of someone who’d repeated the question multiple times.

Thorin managed to rasp out, “Fine, I’m just fine,” with a hoarse voice. His groin was throbbing and he was already half hard in his pants. It was time to beat a hasty retreat, Thorin thought, before he embarrassed himself in front of his friend. Obviously Bilbo had no idea that his little...display was only slightly less indecent than if he’d reached into his pants and stroked himself.

Thorin turned his head back to his desk to tidy his papers while he tried to clear his head from _that_ distracting thought. “It’s just, I’m rather tired,” he lied. “I think I’ll call it a night and try to make sense of these again tomorrow.” In fact, he was suddenly very, _very_ awake and knew that he’d be replaying this scene in his head with his fingers and a bottle of oil just as soon as he was in the privacy of his rooms.

“You’re probably right,” Bilbo said as he got up and stretched and Thorin had to restrain a groan at his luscious little body. “I’ll head out too, try to get some sleep before dealing with the latest report from Dale.” Thorin wanted to leave, urgently needed to release this tension, but they were both walking in the same direction and Bilbo would certainly know something was amiss if Thorin left on his own. He gritted his teeth and maintained an iron-clad grip on his control. He could wait a few more minutes. 

Finally, Bilbo was ready to go and they both walked out the door and locked it behind them. They were silent as they made their way the short distance to the royal wing, but that wasn’t so unusual. Silences between them were often filled with an easy comfort, and Bilbo wasn't to blame for Thorin's lack of control over his arousal that made this particular silence feel awkward and tense. They turned the corner and, _finally,_ Bilbo’s door was in sight. When they drew near Bilbo looked at him with an upturned face and a bright smile framed by braids and, _Mahal,_ he was beautiful. 

“Good night, Thorin,” Bilbo said warmly.

Thorin swallowed hard. “Good night, Bilbo,” he said, and Bilbo turned away and entered his rooms. Thorin waited until the door was fully closed before rushing in a very undignified way the short distance down the hall to his own rooms. He made it through the outer room and into his bedchamber before he sank to his knees and tore at the laces of his breeches. The bottle of oil and his fingers would have to wait for another time because he was too wound up to take the time to draw out his pleasure. He pulled his cock from his pants and got a firm grip and it took less than ten strokes and the memory of Bilbo’s lips pursed around his braid before he was spilling over his fist and making a mess of the floor.

He panted noisily into the silence of his room, and as the sweat cooled on his skin he shivered, not from the chill but in shame at his lack of control. No matter how provocative Bilbo’s behavior was, Thorin shouldn’t have taken advantage of his friend’s ignorance in the matter of dwarven-style braids and pleasured himself to the memory. Bilbo couldn’t know that touching braids was an intimate act, something for family and lovers. He _obviously_ didn’t understand that one didn’t just, just, use their _mouth_ on their own braids in _public._ Whatever fantasies Thorin might have entertained about that very act, each scenario had always been contained to a bedchamber. Bilbo, always so proper and respectable, would be mortified if Thorin told him how lewd he’d been in the not-quite privacy of their office. 

Moreover, Bilbo was his friend, Thorin told himself firmly as he struggled to his feet and started to clean up. His _friend_ deserved his respect and to not have his inexperience with dwarven social moors be fuel for Thorin’s private pleasure. As Thorin settled into bed, he was determined to not let himself slip like that again.

Thorin’s resolve was tested the next day when Bilbo once again closed his lips around the end of his braid while reading at his desk. And the next day. And the next. Suddenly sharing an office with Bilbo, what had long provided a comforting nearness to his beloved friend, had become a mounting test of Thorin’s willpower. Already he’d spent more time than he’d like to admit hard and throbbing in his breeches behind his desk, trying to strangle his desire back down so that he could focus on work. Blushing he might be able to excuse away as heat or exhaustion, but his reaction below the belt would be harder to explain away if Bilbo noticed. 

He managed to withstand an entire week of watching Bilbo suck on his Company braid—the braid that proclaimed his devotion to _Thorin_ —and roll the bead around with his nimble tongue, before he couldn’t take it anymore. He made up some flimsy excuse not an hour into their work time and fled to his bedchamber to bring himself to release, pretending it was Bilbo’s teasing lips and tongue playing with and stretching his hole instead of his own oil-slicked fingers. His release was, once again, embarrassingly quick after a week of build-up. It seemed like this habit of Bilbo’s was becoming as common as his adorable nose twitch. Surely Thorin would get used to it with time and he could stop pleasuring himself to the tantalizing vision of Bilbo playing with his braids.

But he absolutely _could not_ get used to it because he suddenly noticed that Bilbo was doing it _everywhere._ Thorin went looking for a book in the library one morning and found Bilbo in a little reading nook set far back from the main section. He was reading some thick tome and absentmindedly playing his fingers over the ridges of his Erebor braid. Thorin watched those clever fingers rub up and down, up and down, and tried desperately not to think about something _else_ Thorin could give Bilbo to stroke. It was a lurid display, especially in a public space where anyone could walk by and see him! _Thorin_ knew that this was Bilbo’s reading nook; what if someone _else_ had come by looking for Bilbo and had found him playing with himself? Only Thorin should see Bilbo like this—no, that's not what he meant, Thorin didn’t have that right, either, but that didn’t stop the spike of arousal the thought sent through him. Thorin looked around and, seeing that the library was nearly empty right then, he chose not to interrupt Bilbo’s reading and simply walked away. He definitely _did not_ go right back to his rooms for some personal time, but it was a close thing. He managed to wait until the evening.

The next it happened in the council chambers in the middle of a meeting. Lord Groh has been droning on and on about their increased agricultural imports, which Thorin really should have been paying attention to, but instead he was staring at Bilbo out of the corner of his eye. Bilbo himself was paying close attention to Lord Groh’s presentation and was taking notes with one hand. With the other hand, however, he was fiddling with the squarish bead at the back of his head. Given how Bilbo was sitting to Thorin’s left and facing the rest of the dwarves at the long council table, Thorin was sure that to everyone else in the room it simply looked like Bilbo was resting his head on his hand while taking dutiful notes on the proceedings. Only Thorin could really see how Bilbo’s fingers were moving, rolling the bead over and over between two fingers, pulling it, twisting it, tweaking it, and Thorin couldn’t help but imagine Bilbo doing the same to Thorin’s nipples while plowing into him from behind. Thorin’s breath quickened with desire, and he felt his face flush even as the rest of his blood pooled in his rapidly hardening cock. What a terrible time to lose control! He was supposed to be a king, for Mahal’s sake!

He discretely looked around the room to see if anyone was paying him any attention but thankfully everyone was looking at the still-talking Lord Groh. Well, almost everyone was looking at the lord, but it seemed like Thorin’s altered breathing had caught Bilbo’s attention. Now the hobbit was looking at him with an expression Thorin couldn’t decipher. Bilbo reached out with the hand that had been playing with his bead and briefly squeezed Thorin’s forearm, and then went back to taking his notes. His hand stayed away from his hair for the rest of the meeting and Thorin sent a silent prayer up to Mahal in thanks. This was _not_ company in which he’d like to test further his self control.

Apparently Lord Groh’s very long report actually had a purpose, because the next day Thorin and Bilbo were setting out for the grain fields outside of Dale to inspect them. Thorin was glad that Bilbo at least had been paying attention to the briefing because for the life of him Thorin couldn’t remember what they were supposed to be checking for. This was an important trade agreement with their closest neighbors and he couldn’t do his damn job because he was consumed by lusty thoughts for one of his closest friends! He was becoming severely angry at himself that he couldn’t get past this. 

They’d been strolling through the grain fields for a few hours, trying to estimate whether the yield (he thought so, _maybe)_ would be enough for the upcoming winter when all of a sudden Bilbo stopped him. He raised a hand toward Thorin’s face and Thorin was frozen, wondering what Bilbo could possibly be doing, and then Bilbo’s fingers were on _Thorin’s_ left braid. Bilbo’s fingers were trailing gently, oh so gently, over the traditional braid marking him as the Heir of Durin. Thorin couldn’t breathe and he was sure his face was burning. It was so _forward_ of Bilbo. But then Bilbo pulled his hand back and there was a small piece of wheat caught between his fingers.

Thorin’s breath rushed out of him all at once and he was _not_ disappointed. He wasn’t. _Of course_ Bilbo was only getting a piece of debris out of his hair. _Of course_ he wasn’t propositioning him. Bilbo was a just good friend who didn’t want the king to be seen out and about while less than perfectly put together. Unfortunately that didn’t help with the raging erection Thorin was sporting right then, but he could ignore it. He _could,_ really. He tugged his coat closed in front of his groin and tried to disguise the motion as simply straightening up his clothes. He croaked out a short “Thank you,” and started walking again, trusting Bilbo to catch up. This was getting out of hand! And Thorin had been taking himself _in_ hand far too often to thoughts of his friend and his braids. Something had to give.

It all came to a head later that evening, where else but in their shared office where all of Thorin’s difficulties began. There were more agricultural reports to review after the afternoon’s trip but Thorin had long since abandoned the ones on his desk to focus on the riveting sight across the room. Bilbo was, once again, being the responsible one of the two of them and actually reading through some list of crop yields or another and, as had become usual, sucking on the end of his braid. After the events of earlier that day it was harder than normal for Thorin to tear his gaze away and after a while he’d just stopped trying. Bilbo’s lips were pursed around the tip of the braid, wetting it and drawing it farther into his mouth. His clever tongue would dart out to wet his lips and, finally, _finally_ when it curled around the bead once again to suck it past those lips Thorin couldn’t contain himself anymore and he let out a deep, low moan.

The sound was incriminatingly loud in the quiet office and Thorin abruptly froze in mortification. _Oh no._ He couldn’t believe he just did that. There was no way that Bilbo would let that go and, as expected, Bilbo was facing him with that indecipherable look on his face again. The braid dropped out of Bilbo’s mouth and his mouth was so _wet,_ so lusciously pink, that even now that he’d been caught Thorin couldn’t look away.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked, looking directly into his very red face. “Is something the matter?”

 _Lie,_ his mind whispered to him. It was the only way to save his friendship. “No, of course not, Bilbo,” he replied, but his voice was raspy and it gave him away.

“Are you sure about that?” Bilbo shot back at him. He was playing with, tickling, _fondling_ the braid again with his fingers while looking Thorin dead in the eye and Thorin couldn't help but moan again.

Bilbo’s gaze brightened and a small smirk played over his mouth. “Nothing is bothering you?” His fingers continued to move suggestively over the tightly bound hair. “Nothing _...distracting_ you?”

Thorin was struggling to reign his desire in and remind himself that they were _just friends._ Platonic friends who _didn’t_ moan when their friends were accidentally pornographic. Keeping his silence on the ongoing behavior clearly wasn’t working, so he decided to just explain. “Mahal, Bilbo, you don’t know what you’re doing right now. Your braids, with your fingers, and your _mouth—”_

Bilbo interrupted him. “Oh, I don't, don’t I?” His fingers started moving more deliberately up and down the Erebor braid. He was still looking Thorin dead in the eyes and Thorin was gobsmacked. “You know, Balin went into quite a lot of detail about the purpose and meaning of braids when he showed me how to weave them myself for the first time. What each one means, how to read them. What was appropriate behavior when in public. What was very, _very_ much meant only for the privacy of one’s bedroom.” Bilbo’s gaze burned into him.

Was Bilbo _really_ suggesting…? Thorin was blindsided, and it wasn’t a feeling he was particularly comfortable with. “So this...all of this, this _teasing_ of yours...all this time you knew you were—”

“Trying to seduce you? Oh yes, I _absolutely_ know that.” Bilbo dropped the braid and walked with sure steps until he was standing between the Thorin's desk and Thorin, who was frozen in his chair. “What did you think I’ve been doing this whole time? I didn't suddenly develop a fetish. My dear, I’ve been _trying_ to get your attention. And it wasn’t nearly as indecent or public as you think,” he said, cutting off Thorin’s next objection. “No one comes in here unannounced; no one was paying attention to me in council; the library is _always_ empty at that time of day; we were alone in Dale. As much as I love you—” Thorin gasped at the revelation, “—as much as I love you, I would never jeopardize my position at your side like that.” 

“I’ve been in love with you for _years,_ Thorin,” Bilbo continued passionately, and Thorin was sure he was dreaming, because surely Bilbo wasn’t saying— “I love you, and I want you, and I am _tired_ of waiting for you to believe that we can be more than friends.” Yes, apparently he _was_ saying that, and Thorin’s heart was filled to bursting. “We’ve worked through our issues and have put the past behind us. That's done. I chose you years ago and I have made my home here, with you. We’re partners in all the ways that matter, and if you don’t want more with me, if what we have now is all that you want, I will accept that and nothing needs to change. But I’m done quietly pining over you, Thorin. I _love_ you,” he said fiercely with all his trademark bravery, “and I want to be with you, and I hope that you want to be with me, too.” Bilbo reached out and ran his fingers over Thorin’s braid like he’d done earlier, only this time with unmistakable purpose. “I got tired of waiting for you to notice how much I want this. So I decided to make it absolutely clear.”

Bilbo had always had a way with words. At times, his words had moved literal kingdoms. Bilbo’s speeches certainly never failed to move _Thorin,_ and these words, now, when he was giving Thorin the most precious gift in the world, were no different. Thorin felt Bilbo’s sincerity; he really _would_ let the matter be and rededicate himself to their friendship if Thorin said no. Just like Thorin, Bilbo felt that their partnership wasn’t worth throwing away over unrequited feelings. Thank Mahal that neither of their feelings were unrequited after all. “Yes!” Thorin gasped and reached out to grab Bilbo by the waist and draw the hobbit into straddling his lap. “Yes, Bilbo. I love you, too, and I want us to be together _so much,_ in all ways and forever. I have for so long, p _lease,_ Bilbo, yes—”

Once again Bilbo cut him off, but Thorin didn’t mind because he was _finally_ kissing his love, his beautiful hobbit, and _oh_ it was glorious! Bilbo's knees were digging into the sides of Thorn's thighs, squeezed between his legs and the arms of the chair, but Thorin didn't care about the discomfort because Bilbo’s mouth was as soft and wet and lush as he’d imagined it being, his tongue as nimble and clever as he had so enticingly demonstrated. His taste was indescribably delicious and it stoked Thorin’s arousal higher and higher. Thorin broke off their kiss, overwhelmed by the perfect creature in his arms and couldn’t help himself from repeating “I love you, I love you so much, Bilbo,” as he pressed kisses all over Bilbo’s face, his ears, his neck, his shoulder where Thorin had tugged Bilbo’s shirt aside. And the _noises_ Bilbo was making, the breathy moans and the way he gasped Thorin’s name when Thorin found a sensitive spot, and the way Bilbo’s hips hitched forward in short jerks as he lost control—it was absolutely intoxicating to know that Thorin could affect Bilbo this way and Thorin couldn’t get enough.

Thorin was abruptly shoved away from his exploration of the creamy skin of Bilbo’s shoulder and he gasped in heaving breaths as he met Bilbo’s eyes again. “Bilbo, what—I’m sorry, my love, if this is too much, too fast— ”

“Not at all, my dear Thorin,” Bilbo murmured with a smile and kissed his lips. “Not too much. In fact, it has me hoping that you’ll let me do something I’ve dreamt of for a long time now.” And with that he slipped off of Thorin’s lap and sunk to his knees between Thorin’s parted legs. He placed his hands upon Thorin’s thighs and looked up at Thorin with a wicked look in his eyes and Thorin’s mind was suddenly flooded with _ideas_ of all the times they could do this in the future. 

Bilbo slid his hands up Thorin’s thighs and _inward_ and suddenly they were cupping Thorin’s trapped erection. Thorin groaned low in his throat. Bilbo paused and Thorin could see the desire shining in his eyes. “Yes?” Bilbo asked.

“Oh, you are so, _so_ perfect, my love,” Thorin said fervently. “Yes, please!”

Bilbo responded with a wide grin full of mischief and leaned forward to place a light kiss right on the center of the bulge in Thorin’s pants. Thorin gasped at the touch and then groaned again as his cock was quickly freed and, after just one lick at the moisture already pooled on the tip, was just as quickly enveloped in warm wet heat.

For all the teasing that Bilbo had subjected him to for days and days without end, he was certainly not playing around now. Thorin was _absolutely_ alright with that. Bilbo took Thorin into his mouth and slid his full, wet lips down the shaft until Thorin felt the back of Bilbo’s throat convulse against the tip of his cock. Thorin was panting, overwhelmed with how good it felt. Bilbo repeated the motion, bobbing up and down over and over, sucking with just the right amount of pressure on the way up. He took Thorin’s cock as far as he could into his mouth, played that nimble tongue over the thick vein on the underside, teased at the sensitive skin under the head. With the arms of Thorin’s chair restricting how far he could spread his legs, Bilbo’s hands didn’t have quite enough space to grip the base of Thorin’s cock or tease over his stones, but with how talented Bilbo was with his mouth, Thorin didn’t really miss it. Instead, Bilbo was focusing on Thorin’s thighs, rubbing and pressing and squeezing in a rhythm that mirrored his mouth and was just as stimulating. Saliva was dripping from Bilbo’s mouth and wetting Thorin’s pants and his stones and Thorin _loved_ how filthy it was. 

Bilbo pushed down and once again Thorin felt Bilbo’s throat flutter against the head of his cock. He moaned deep in his chest at the feeling and gripped the arms of his chair tightly to keep from thrusting and choking Bilbo, only for Bilbo to pull up and leave him wet and wanting. Thorin looked down at him with desperation.

“Don’t hold back, Thorin,” Bilbo said, and _oh,_ Thorin was in love with the rasp in his voice. Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s hands from where they were and placed them on top of braided golden curls. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel you.” And with that he sunk back down onto Thorin’s cock, _all the way_ down until he was swallowing around him. The head of Thorin’s cock was lodged in Bilbo’s throat, squeezed so exquisitely, and Thorin’s hands tightened on Bilbo’s head as he was overwhelmed by pleasure. Now that he had permission he couldn’t stop himself from moving: his feet twitched restlessly against Bilbo’s bent legs; his hands _finally_ caressed all over Bilbo’s braided head and played with the loose curls around his shoulders; and his hips thrusted and pushed his cock over and over and _over_ into Bilbo’s throat. Bilbo was working him so perfectly that he felt the peak of his pleasure approaching all too soon. He gave a warning tug on Bilbo’s hair but Bilbo just raised his eyes and held Thorin’s gaze as he sunk down again. Thorin could only moan, far too loud, as he released his pleasure down Bilbo’s throat.

Bilbo swallowed his seed down, which made Thorin moan again at the sight and the feeling of Bilbo’s throat convulsing around him and at the pleasure Bilbo was clearly taking from the act. Once Bilbo had swallowed his fill Thorin just _had_ to lift Bilbo up from his knees and perch his plush bottom on the edge of the desk. Thorin surged up from his chair and fused his mouth to Bilbo’s and kissed him deeply, chasing the salty bitter taste with his tongue until all he was left with was Bilbo. Bilbo’s legs came up around Thorin’s waist and held on tight during the kiss. Thorin would have held on forever, kissing and kissing until the world ended, but after a while Bilbo pushed him away. Thorin couldn’t let him go too far, though, so he pressed their foreheads together as they both panted and tried to catch their breaths. Thorin could feel Bilbo's desire pressing into his stomach and although Thorin's body needed time to recover, he had _so many ideas_ of how to fill that time, starting with throwing Bilbo's legs over his shoulders and burying his head between them.

“You are amazing, Bilbo,” Thorin said, and he couldn’t help but steal a short, hard kiss. “Let me make you feel as amazing as you make me feel.”

“Oh yes,” Bilbo breathed out and Thorin _had_ to kiss him again just because of that noise. But it was just the one kiss because then Bilbo said, “But not here,” and hopped off the desk. He pressed both hands against Thorin’s chest and looked up at him with heat in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about this for _far_ too long. I’ve got big plans for us tonight, and we need a bed for them.”

“Mmm, you are very wise, my love,” Thorin said with a grin, and made sure that he was all tucked away. Once he'd put himself back together he caressed the side of Bilbo’s face with the back of his hand. “Will you come with me to my chambers tonight? I can promise you a bottle of oil, a warm fire, and an evening of love and companionship. And a very large, hot bath afterwards.”

“That sounds absolutely perfect for tonight, and for every night after this,” Bilbo agreed, and Thorin grinned a wide, joyful grin, even more in love with Bilbo than he’d been the day before. He grabbed Bilbo’s hand and they made their way to the door. “It depends, of course,” Bilbo continued with a teasing lilt, “on what you’ve been using that oil for _before_ now.”

“Oh, my dear, can’t you guess?” Thorin said with a huff of laughter and a wry smile. “You’ve been teasing me for so long now. I’d stroked myself _raw_ thinking of you because I couldn't wait long enough to use oil.” Thorin turned around, leaned back against the closed door, and drew Bilbo forward against him. He leaned down and nibbled on Bilbo’s earlobe and relished in the way Bilbo gasped and pressed his arousal against him. “But once I had the oil, of course,” Thorin whispered in the ear he’d just snacked on, “I couldn’t help but think of what _else_ we might do with it. And I made sure to practice on myself, repeatedly and at length, although my fingers are certainly not as clever as I’m sure yours will be.”

As Thorin had hoped, Bilbo groaned at the thought of Thorin opening himself up for Bilbo’s cock, and Thorin drew Bilbo in for another deep, filthy kiss. They finally parted and Thorin found the willpower to straighten up from where he was leaning against the door. He grabbed Bilbo’s hand again and opened the door. “Let’s go,” Thorin said with a grin, “I’m excited to learn of these plans of yours.” Bilbo laughed, a playful, joyous sound, and Thorin couldn't help but laugh along with him in happiness. Tonight, Thorin thought while walking home with his love, he would enjoy setting Bilbo's braids in disarray. And tomorrow morning he’d get to show Bilbo _exactly_ why there was something so intimate and private about braiding.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll leave you all to fill in the blanks at the end there ;) And will I ever write a fic without forehead touching? No, probably not. Oh well. Thanks for reading!


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